


Sand Blue

by chinesebakery



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Challenge Response, Drabble, F/M, Gen, Maveth - Freeform, Translation, not a happy fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 05:02:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7877548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chinesebakery/pseuds/chinesebakery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The universe shakes, swirls and spits him out on a cold and sandy ground before sealing itself shut again. When Fitz opens his eyes, there's nothing but blue. Not the familiar blue of skies and oceans, it's the grey and muted blue of a lunar desert or a science-fiction landscape.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sand Blue

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Bleu sable](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7829596) by [chinesebakery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chinesebakery/pseuds/chinesebakery). 



> I'm not posting any new work this week, as I'm busy working on my RomCom Challenge entry (which is due very soon). To make up for that, here's a translation of the ficlet I wrote for the Multicultural Challenge.

The universe shakes, swirls and spits him out on a cold and sandy ground before sealing itself shut again.

When Fitz opens his eyes, there's nothing but blue. Not the familiar blue of skies and oceans, it's the grey and muted blue of a lunar desert or a science-fiction landscape. In the half-darkness, he spends long moments observing the two moons, so close he could almost reach out and touch them, before he remembers what has brought him to this outlandish land.

"Jemma !"

There's no echo, no topographic relief for his voice to crash into. As far as his eyes can see, there's nothing but sand plains, both monotonous and hostile. The horizon line is only broken by the bumps of meager hills.

"Jemmaaaaa!"

His fists hurt. There's no knowing how many times he crashed them into the monolith before it deigned devouring him. He clenches and unclenches them, inspects his swollen phalanges. No broken bones.

He moves forward, haphazardly, until exhaustion catches up with him and he has to lie down, directly on the chilly ground. He falls asleep, lulled by the sound of the wind blowing steadily in the distance, turning sand into a threatening fog.

***

He walks. Every day, he walks until his legs can't carry him anymore, until his entire body's worn down by the unusual pull of gravity.

All notion of time is soon lost. The stars move in uncertain patterns, and the sun obstinately refuses to rise. Hunger plagues him, thirst, too. He won't survive much longer this way, he knows, but as long as his body will stand, he won't stop searching or screaming her name through the ocean of dust.

So he keeps walking, with no idea of how wide this planet might be, or if they've been sent to the same place, at the same time. And even if they were both here, and if she had survived here all alone for months, he can't shake the feeling they might be moving in opposite directions, getting further and further apart with each step. Neither chance nor the cosmos have been on their side so far.

And yet, he's certain she's near, as she's always been, even when there was nothing left of her but an echo.

***

He finds a pond, and in it a half fauna, half flora creature that circles his legs and pulls him to the bottom. Fitz chokes and struggles until he can grasp a large stone and smash the creature's soft body with a strength he didn't think he possessed.

Before tasting its flesh, he plunges his face into the sour water to rid his mouth of the taste of sand and dust that hasn't left him since he first hit the ground of this impossible world.

When he grabs the creature, he can't help but heave. It's appalling, like biting into viscous, putrid seaweeds, but he hasn't eaten in days. How many days? Without a sun to punctuate the flow of days, time escapes all attempt at quantification.

He thinks of all the times Jemma attempted to feed him something organic, healthy and revolting, until he collapses into a fit of crazed laughter while tears stream down his face.

***

Time slides inescapably, excruciatingly slow, with every waking moment similar to the last. He dreams about the plant beast, sometimes. He wonders if he will take its place, in the end. If he'll enter the pond and resolves to never leave, to let his body rot in the fetid water until it disappears, until there's nothing left of him.

He persuades himself the thought has never crossed Jemma's mind.

***

The day comes when he decides not to walk. Not to fight. Not to drink the repugnant water and not to wrestle with the seaweeds monsters. His body feels worn out, hollow, and he knows now that he will never see her again.

This is the day he catches sight of a frail figure walking, head held high, in his direction. He recognizes her before he can see her features or hear her voice calling his name, the way he's shouting hers.

He runs with the last of his strengths, tearing his feet off the ground with difficulty, until he holds her in his arms, at last. She's exactly like he remembers, from the toe of her boots to the white collar peeking out of her jumper.

He breathes the familiar scent of her skin and traces the contours of her bones under the fabric of her clothes. His hand sinks into her tied up hair, wrapping a curl around his finger as he buries his face in her neck.

He doesn't realize yet that it's his own hands, wrapping around his shoulders. That there is nothing here but sand and wind,  and he's been driven mad with loneliness and exhaustion and pain, in the blue night of a sunless, frigid planet.


End file.
